Poker Face
by HowCouldThisHappenToMe
Summary: After the deaths of his captain and 'brother', Marco finds himself leading the crew that is family. Disaster strikes and he not only loses his crew, but his memories. Marco must now uncover these memories, as well as protect his new companions.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I finally finished writing this story and posting it to DeviantArt. Now, I've decided to post it here as well. I will be updating every Monday, just like I did with another story of mine. I hope you enjoy the story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of the characters belonging to it. **

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Trying to escape from the Marines after one of the largest battles in history wasn't easy. Doing so in the midst of a storm from hell? Damn near impossible. The First Division Commander of what remained of Whitebeard's crew recognized the severity of the situation as cannons fired around him. A flash of lightning lit up the sky long enough for him to see the three Marine ships approaching the one he led. Thunder rumbled moments later, intensifying the cannon-fire. Blue flames licked the air around the commander as he hovered above the battlefield momentarily. Spotting his prey, he dove for the nearest ship and the man at his bow. The target was a Devil Fruit user and the one who'd created this hellish storm that hindered the pirates' escape.

The giant blue phoenix known as First Commander Marco was quickly approaching the Marine ship; flames burning brightly even in the torrential downpour. Cannons served no purpose against him, as the Marines knew well. Their only hope for the moment was to distract the phoenix. It was for that reason they focused their manpower on the pirate ship, where the remaining members of Whitebeard's crew were. Marco constantly glanced back at his ship, but never felt the need to turn back. His brothers were strong and could handle a few cannons.

"Captain, look out!" one of the Marines yelled out when he realized Marco's destination.

The captain merely smirked and, with a quick motion of his hand, a strike of lightning passed straight through the phoenix. Marco froze in the air, his screams sounding like a strangled cry as his body arched back. He plummeted from the sky at an alarming rate as the flames disappeared from his body.

"Marco's been hit!" a member of Whitebeard's former crew yelled over the raging sounds of battle.

The Third Division Commander, Jozu, glanced at the last place he'd seen Marco. Sure enough, the phoenix was nowhere to be seen. With their leader gone and the Marines quickly closing in, he didn't know how they were going to escape this time.

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All was peaceful on the island of Lacrime. The sun was shining brightly, the sea was calm, and the breeze was gentle. It was a day the inhabitants of the island saw often. A pair of bare feet walked across the sand of a quiet beach, sandals held in the owner's hand. She was thankful for being out of work on such a beautiful day, and she smiled as the breeze picked up. That smile quickly fell when she saw the body of a man lying on the shore.

"Dio mio," she whispered in shock as she ran to the man's side.

He was unconscious on top of a large piece of driftwood, but still breathing. The woman stared at him for a moment, wondering what had happened to him and how long he had been left on the beach like this. The man looked to be older than her by at least ten years. He was very muscular, sunburned and had blond hair matted to his head. What the woman found oddest about his appearance was the red tattoo on his chest and abdomen that was revealed from beneath his open, torn white shirt. The tattoo looked like a cross with an arch going through it. It was something she had never seen before.

"What do you do now, Crista?" she asked herself, mumbling softly.

She studied the man for another moment before putting her sandals on and sliding her arms under his shoulders to pull him up. After much struggling, Crista managed to stand up with the much taller man weighing heavily against her. She stopped to catch her breath and began the trek back to her village with the stranger on her back.

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**I promise, the coming chapters will be longer. Please R&R.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay... I changed my mind. lol. I will be updating this every Monday and Friday. Sure, the time between updates isn't even, but at least I have a set schedule. ;)**

**Dislcaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters.**

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Marco awoke to the sound of objects shuffling and the soft humming of a nameless tune. He slowly opened his eyes, surprised to not be blinded by the sun. A small lamp illuminated the room, without giving him the headache he'd expected. He slowly turned his head, looking around the rather plain room he now found himself in. A few feet away, he saw the slender form of a young woman with brown hair just past her shoulder. She turned around and smiled at seeing him awake.

"Good evening. How are you feeling?" she asked with a sweet smile. Marco had to admit, she was quite attractive. He started to sit up and noticed the woman's concerned expression. "Be careful. I found you washed up on the shore."

"I'm alright," Marco answered after a moment. The woman smiled again and pulled up a chair beside his bed.

"That's good. I was worried you might have been hurt." A look of realization crossed her features and Marco almost laughed at how easy it was to read her. "Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Crista."

"Marco." His response was automatic.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Marco." He studied her for a moment, taking notice of the near-apprehension on her face. "If you don't mind my asking… What happened to you?" Marco opened his mouth to answer, but found the words wouldn't come. The memory of what had happened before waking in this room was unreachable. In fact, he couldn't recall much of his past.

"I-uh-I don't know," he mumbled, resting a hand on his head. Sympathy spread itself across Crista's easily-read face.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to ask in the first place. Do you want some water?"

Marco nodded slowly, more focused on his missing memories than her offer. She could've offered to throw a beehive at him and he probably would've nodded still. Crista stood and quickly left the room, the sound of running water soon following. Marco looked around the room he was in, seeing only a plaque with the name of the island to catch his interest.

"La-crime?" he asked as Crista returned with a glass of water. She glanced at the plaque and smiled as she handed Marco his water.

"It's pronounced La-cree-may. It comes from the ancient language of this island. You can't see it now, but out that window behind you are two mountains that are often described to look like crying eyes. Lacrime, in the ancient language, means 'tears'. There was an old legend that went with it, but there are so many different tellings that there's no way to know what was the original," Crista explained with a chuckle. "This island is a bit out of the way, so we don't often see travelers. People in town are going to be curious about you. If anyone makes you uncomfortable with their questions, please don't take it too personally."

"I wouldn't care if I could remember," Marco answered bluntly, brining a slightly surprised expression to Crista. Her eyes softened again, but she didn't ask about Marco's failing memory. She seemed to, instead, gaze out the window behind him.

"Fratello will be coming by tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Mio fratello, Angelo. He has been my best friend since I was a little girl. He looks after me. Don't worry, though, he's harmless."

"Where will you be?"

"Here. Angelo just wants to check on me. He was here earlier today, after I brought you back from the beach. Angelo worries about me."

"You brought home a man you found unconscious on the beach. I could've been a merciless killer for all you know," Marco said.

"Or for all you know," Crista pointed out with her sweet smile. In spite of himself, Marco laughed and leaned against the headboard of the bed. He set his empty glass on the table beside him and Crista stood slowly. "Are you hungry? I can heat something up for you."

"If it's not much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. I'll get you some more water while I'm at it."

With that, Crista took the glass and walked out. Marco's eyes followed her and he thought back to what he knew of himself. He could remember his childhood in the South Blue, and he could remember leaving home as a young adult, but little else. Where had he come from? What had happened before he lost consciousness? Was there anyone looking for him?

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**There's chapter two. :) I know it's not much longer than the first chapter, but they do get longer. Please R&R.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is the next chapter of "Poker Face". Another language is used in this story quite frequently, and I will be providing translations at the bottom of the page for those of you who do not know Italian. There is only one line in this chapter that I will not translate for you, because it will come up later. Other than that, everything will be translated for you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters.**

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Soft humming floated about the small house, mingling with the sounds of sizzling as Marco entered the kitchen. Standing over the stove, he saw Crista scrambling eggs and frying meats. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, looking Marco over. He was wearing a set of clothes she had given him, and she appeared to be pleased at the fitting.

"It's a good thing Fratello always buys clothes too big," she said and Marco offered a smile.

"Good thing."

"Fratello will be here soon. He said he'd come for breakfast."

As if on cue, the door at the far right of the kitchen opened to reveal a man similar to Marco in physique, though leaner. His black hair rested messily atop his head and the sun had left his skin a deep tan. As Crista had said, he was wearing a shirt that appeared to be a size or two too large for him.

"Buongiorno, Sorellina (_Good morning, little sister_)," he drawled and Crista set her spatula down to give him a hug.

"Buongiorno! Come stai (_Good morning! How're you_)?"

"Molto bene. È tu (_Great. And you_)?"

"Bene. Si chiama Marco (_Good. This is Marco_)," Crista said, gesturing to the sleepy blond man. "Marco, this is Angelo."

"Piacere (_Pleasure to meet you_)," Angelo greeted with a grin, extending a hand to Marco. They shook hands, though Marco was a bit unsure. He looked to Crista.

"I thought it was a dead language," he muttered and the other two laughed.

"I only said it was the ancient language, not dead. Everyone here learns the World Language in school, but a lot of people speak our native tongue at home."

"People will speak the World Language to you most of the time," Angelo added reassuringly.

"Good to know," Marco answered as Crista poured two cups of hot tea, handing one to each of them.

"You're not at work, Sorellina. You don't need to play waitress."

"Be quiet and drink your tea in the living room," Crista retorted with her usual smile. Angelo laughed and clapped a hand on Marco's shoulder, guiding him into the next room.

"How long have you known Crista?" Marco asked as they sat on the couch, trying to make pleasant conversation.

"Since she was born, twenty years ago. I was five at the time. Lei è la mia sorellina," Angelo answered.

"I take it you're very close."

"Yes and that's why I'm only going to say this once."

"Hmmm?"

"Crista ha un cuore generoso. No si rompe. (_Crista has a generous heart. Don't break it_)" Marco could detect the warning tone even through the language barrier. His thoughts were proven correct in the next statement. "If any harm befalls her, my face will be the last you'll ever see."

"You don't look like you would kill me."

"Non fidarti: l'apparenza inganna." Crista entered the living room with three plates balanced in her hands and passed them around, unknowingly bringing an abrupt end to the conversation.

"What were you talking about?" she asked as she took a seat beside Angelo.

"What a great cook you are," he answered between bites, as lighthearted as he was before. Marco eyed the man suspiciously, wondering what that final warning had meant, before eating his meal as well. Crista rolled her eyes with a laugh.

"That's a lie. Marco, what do you think?"

"It's great," the blond answered earnestly and Crista grinned.

"So, Marco, what's that tattoo from?" Angelo asked. Marco looked down at his chest and the red ink etched into it. The symbol was certainly familiar to him, but he didn't know what it meant or when he'd gotten it.

"I don't know," he answered. It was lame, but true. Angelo gave him a skeptical look.

"Nobody gets drunk enough to forget a tattoo that size."

"Angelo!" Crista hissed in a reprimanding tone. "Non ricorda niente. (_He doesn't remember anything_)"

"O lue mente. (_Or he's lying_)"

"Angelo!"

"Please, don't argue on my account," Marco offered. "I understand your skepticism, Angelo. I don't think I was drunk when I got it. I just don't remember it."

"Why not?" Angelo asked and Marco could only shrug.

"Guess I hit my head too hard. I don't even know how I ended up on this island."

"Vedi (_See_)?" Crista muttered, stabbing at her food with her fork. Angelo's eyes fell and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Mi dispiace, Sorellina," he murmured. "Spero che non stai male. (_I'm sorry, little sister. I don't wish to upset you_)"

"Va bene (_It's alright_). Marco, would you like me to show you around town later?"

"That would be great. Thank you," he answered. Crista offered her smile again, and Marco found himself glad that he had been the one to bring it back.

"Prego. (_You're welcome_)"

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means." They laughed easily as Angelo checked the time. He quickly finished his breakfast and stood.

"I have to go to work. Ti vedrò più tardi, Sorellina (_See you later, little sister_)," he said, kissing her cheeks and forehead.

"Ciao, Fratello (_Bye, brother_)," she called after him, just before the door shut.

"You said you don't get many travelers here, right?" Marco asked as he finished eating. Crista took the plate for him before he could protest and brought it into the kitchen with her own.

"That's right."

"Then why do you have to learn the World Language?"

"The closest things we have to tourists are the men who come once a year for business. They buy our produce."

"Who are they?"

"The Marines."

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**Please R&R**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the late update. I COMPLETELY forgot yesterday... If it makes you feel better, there won't be a whole lot of foreign language to try to figure out this chapter. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or the characters associated with it.**

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Marco often spent his days on Lacrime walking around the village Crista called home. Sacro was a small, mostly residential town with a few stores and restaurants located in the center. Crista, as Marco had learned, worked as a waitress at a restaurant simply known as Carmella's. Crista had told him the full name once, but it was in her native language and he'd quickly forgotten it.

"Buongiorno, Marco (_Hello, Marco_)!" someone called and he turned to see a late middle-aged man not far behind him. The man's dark hair was only beginning to grey and he walked with a slight limp from arthritis in his knees. Like everyone on the island, he seemed to have a perpetual, contagious grin that compelled Marco to stop and wave.

"Buongiorno, Signor Catelli (_Hello, Mr. Catelli_)," he responded. It was one of the extremely few phrases Marco had picked up in his two weeks on the island.

"Going to visit Crista?" Marco glanced around and realized he was only a few buildings away from Carmella's. He chuckled to himself.

"I guess so." Signore Catelli laughed along with him, patting Marco's shoulder.

"Why not get a job there? I'm sure Angelo would appreciate some help in delivering supplies." Marco resisted the urge to frown at the suggestion. While he was, for the most part, accepted by the citizens of Sacro, there were still a few people unwilling to trust him. Angelo was among those few.

"Maybe," Marco offered to appease the other man.

"Sì, sì. Forse (_Yes, yes. Maybe_). But I'm keeping you from Signorina Salvi. Tell her hello for me."

"I will."

Signor Catelli turned away, heading in the other direction while Marco continued his walk. As he neared the tiny restaurant, he saw Crista stumble through the front doors and fall onto the dirt road. She was wearing a black attire, as was her uniform, and had an apron tied around her waist. Marco laughed at her clumsiness and offered a hand to help her stand.

"Grazie, Marco. What're you doing here?"

"Taking a walk, until you came running out like that. Signor Catelli wanted me to tell you he says hello." Crista laughed and pulled her hair out of its high ponytail, putting the elastic band on her wrist.

"He just wants a reason for me to come by and visit him soon. Lui è un uomo gentile (_He's a nice man_)." The two began walking together back to Crista's house, where Marco still resided in the extra room.

"You know I don't understand half of what you say," he retorted with a chuckle.

"Maybe you should learn," Crista answered. "That is, unless you plan to leave us soon." Her voice took on an almost sad tone, as though she didn't want Marco to leave. He had to admit, in these past two weeks, he had become quite used to having Crista around. Her sweetness often took his mind off of the memories he still had yet to recover.

"I don't know yet." They were silent for a few minutes, before Crista spoke again.

"Your name comes from our language, you know. It means 'war-like'. Do you think it's fitting?" Marco shrugged again; he seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Who knows? Maybe I am, or was. Can't be sure with a lousy memory like mine."

"At least you're able to make new memories. There are some who would be in your situation and unable to do that, so I've heard."

They entered Crista's home and she left Marco in the living room to change out of her work attire. While she was doing that, Marco walked out the kitchen door and into the garden Crista kept. There were flowers budding all around the stone walkway leading from the door. After about ten feet, the path diverged, one direction leading to the front of the house, and the other direction to the back. Marco turned the corner to go behind Crista's house and found that it was no longer surrounded by flowers, but fruits. They were of varying shapes, sizes and colors, but bore a striking resemblance to the Devil Fruit he had eaten as a child.

"Couldn't be," he mumbled as he continued to walk down the path.

"There you are!" Crista called from behind and he turned to greet her. She was now dressed more casually, in a pair of grey shorts and a green tank top. "How do you like my garden?"

"It's nice. What are all these fruits for?"

"This is the produce the Marines buy once a year. Anyone who eats one gains a great power, but he forfeits his ability to swim. Everyone on the island grows them. When someone turns twenty-five, we have a grand ceremony in which the person eats a fruit he or she has grown."

"You grow Devil Fruits?" Marco asked incredulously. He'd heard they were rare, but he was now standing in a garden full of them.

"Il Diavolo? No, no! Sono Le Frutte di Dio. They are God's Fruits."

Well, Marco thought, _that_ was a different take on them.

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**So, there's the next chapter. I thought I'd could use a little speculation, considering we don't actually KNOW where the Devil Fruits come from. So, I figured, "Why not have them be grown on this island?" **

**Please R&R. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the next chapter. There's nothing to translate here. However, in the next chapter, I'm going to try a different way to translate the Italian for you readers (as suggested by a reviewer). I would love if when I do this, you guys would tell me which method works best because I don't want to ruin the flow of the story, but at the same time, I want you to be able to understand. But, that's in the next chapter, so there's nothing to worry about now. :)**

**Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters belong to Eiichiro Oda. I claim no ownership over the series or the characters within it.**

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Soon, the nightmares came.

Marco could only watch in horror as familiar faces were killed before his very eyes. He didn't know how he recognized these men, but he felt a strong connection to them. Many bore the symbol he had tattooed onto his chest. Were they his friends? They were being slaughtered by men in uniform, the Marines.

He heard a woman scream, harsh sobs sounding as though they would be racking her body. Marco turned around and saw another familiar face as he was slaughtered. The man was young, maybe Crista's age, with black hair and strong features. There was a hole burned through his chest. Standing before this man in shock was a lanky kid, smeared with the dead man's blood. The crying woman was familiar as well, bearing the same odd tattoo on her shoulder. Marco wasn't sure why, but seeing her cry angered him almost as much as the young man's death. Why? He didn't know these people. Why did he care?

He wanted to scream. Maybe he did. He couldn't be sure anymore. Marco felt his body move on its own accord, flying towards the Marine that had killed the young man.

"Marco!" a feminine voice yelled, but it wasn't that of the sobbing woman. "Marco!" Crista?

His eyes snapped open and he took a gasping breath, feeling as though he couldn't get enough oxygen. He was drenched in a cold sweat, glancing wildly around his dark room. There was nothing to be seen. No mysteriously familiar faces, no bloodshed before him, and no anguished screams. He let out a long sigh as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. Marco sat up in bed, placing his hand on his head.

"Damn," he muttered, his mind reeling from the hellish nightmare.

Who were all those people? Why had he felt so strongly about them? What the hell was the tattoo inked into his chest for? Marco shook his head, knowing such questions couldn't be answered easily. Hell, he didn't even know if those people and his tattoo had any significance. Pushing the questions away, Marco closed his eyes and waited for sleep to return.

The next night was worse.

This time, the star was an old man who, while well out of his prime, was far from feeble. He was a giant of a man, a hulking figure that towered over nearly all opposition. The giant's white moustache arced upward and reminded Marco very much of the tattoo he had on his chest. Did that mean anything? Or was it simply his mind trying to rationalize what he didn't understand?

Whatever the case, Marco felt immeasurable rage directed at a man with a black beard who was facing the old man. Fear then clenched around Marco's heart, somehow knowing that old bastard was taking his last breaths. He had bullet holes in him, as well as marks from swords and cannons. Hell, half his face had been fucking melted off! How he was still standing was beyond Marco, but he could still feel the tears falling from his own eyes.

"One Piece is out there!" the old man yelled before taking his last breath.

The tears poured down Marco's cheeks, as they did with all the men around him. He didn't understand. Why did this old man's death bring him such pain? What did that bastard have to do with him? Marco watched as the jacked fell from the shoulders of the old man, who still stood in death. On his back was ink that resembled a more elaborate version of Marco's tattoo.

Marco figured Crista had noticed his sleeping troubles. She often looked as tired as he felt. Yet she would always give him her usual grin every morning when he awoke. Marco could always see through her smile to the other emotions on her face. Crista was so easy to read; he knew she was worried about him. Today was no different.

"What's wrong?" he asked, though he already knew what her answer would be.

"Nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?" Damn, she was a bad liar. But what she lacked in ability, she made up for in persistence. Marco had learned to stop pushing the matter because she would only deny her concern. He shrugged and decided to help her make breakfast.

Then, there were those _other_ dreams. They weren't as horrific, but just as explicit. In those dreams, he could feel every contour of the soft feminine body beneath his. Terribly scarred fingertips grazed his skin, but he never minded the rough feeling. Shoulder-length blond hair was always matted to the tanned beauty's face, her eyes closed in ecstasy. The dream made him uncomfortable. It wasn't like he'd never lain with a woman, but this was different. He didn't know the woman. He felt like an intruder of an intimate moment. But he could never stop the feeling of his heart swelling when she cried his name.

… God, he was a sick bastard, wasn't he?

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**So, here's what you need to know about this chapter.**

**The dreams, I felt they made a bit of sense. See, in all my research on amnesia (which is surprisingly difficult to find some concrete information on), it said that people with retrograde amnesia-the kind I've given Marco- are not able to consciously remember past events. It also said that events further in the past are easier to remember than those closer to the point of memory loss. For that reason, I thought it would be a good idea if Marco's memories as a pirate came to him in the form of dreams. Of course, he thinks they are just bad dreams (or erotic dreams, in the case of that last one), but thinks little else of them.**

**Now, I'd like to talk about the two women in this chaper who made cameo appearances. The first one (the sobbing woman at Ace's death) is one of my own OCs. She's meant to be a member of Whitebeard's crew, thus a sister-figure to Marco. She won't be showing up too much, as this story is focused on Marco.**

The other woman is a former lover I have created for Marco. More will be revealed about her as the story goes on, mostly in the form of dreams and memories, but also talked about towards the end. She won't be making any physical appearances in the story, for reasons that will be explained later.

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please R&R.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so this time I'm going to be trying a different way to place the translations for you in this story. I would like for you guys to please tell me which method works better, or if you think there is another idea I can try. I want to make reading this story as easy as possible for you guys, so your opinions are greatly appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters.**

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Hushed whispers constantly permeated the air around the _Moby Dick II_, one of the ships belonging to Whitebeard's fleet. The talk was always the same: Whitebeard's death, Ace's death, and Marco's disappearance. There were some who thought he was dead, and others who rejected the idea. Today's whisperings were the same, with the addition of another topic: a young woman aboard the ship. As a member of Whitebeard's crew, she was the youngest sister to the men and because she was injured, she was among their main concerns.

"She should be resting, not sitting up as a lookout," Vista's easily distinguishable voice grumbled.

"Our firefly refuses to believe Marco's dead," another voice answered. It belonged to the young woman's favorite cook, Emile.

"Do you?" There was silence for a moment.

"I don't want to, but we saw him fall."

"She's only this persistent because of Ace and Oyaji," Jozu's gruff voice added to the conversation.

"Can you blame her? Hotaru lost her father and her lover, not to mention Thatch and Anne. Another brother would break her."

Hotaru shifted in her chair as she listened to the conversation on the other side of the door. She winced and glared down at the bandages wrapped around her torso and upper arms. The nurses had done a fine job treating her. The healing now depended on her body. Hotaru figured the healing was slowed because she wasn't resting, as Vista often urged her to do. Of course, she never listened. How could she rest when Marco was out there, probably hurt? She hadn't seen him fall from the sky, but had been told by Jozu that he'd been struck by lightning.

"It would be difficult, but she's strong-willed. She'd pull through," Jozu said and Hotaru sighed. While she understood their concern for her, she could do without them talking about her.

"Hotaru would be better if she rested more," Vista urged, a frown tugging at his lips.

He had been worrying most for the young woman's health, having seen her prior to being treated. During the battle at Marineford, she had been severely burned across her stomach and part of her upper back. Vista had helped Marco bring her aboard the _Moby Dick II_. The others hadn't seen the scarlet, blistered skin of their younger sister.

"She'll be fine," Jozu muttered again and began walking away as the door beside him opened.

In the doorway, they saw the weakened body of the young woman they'd been speaking of. In the past few weeks, she'd lost weight and muscle, having been unable to train and unwilling to eat much- always said her stomach bothered her too much. Her black hair, nearly short enough to be a young man's, was matted to her head.

"Hotaru," Vista began, his tone already reprimanding.

"Please don't, Vista. You'll only be wasting your breath," the woman murmured.

"Are you going to be eating today?" Emile asked, but Hotaru shook her head.

"I don't have an appetite."

"Don't make us force you," Jozu said gruffly and Hotaru looked up at him.

"Do you think Marco's dead?" she asked, seeming to not hear the Third Division Commander's statement. Jozu stared down at her for a few tense moments. She no longer looked her twenty-one years, but rather like a small child again. He didn't want to worry her more, for fear of making her condition worse, but saw no point in giving her false hope. He could only answer honestly.

"I don't know."

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Marco set a box full of supplies at the back door of Carmella's. He had taken the offer to get a job there, even if it meant dealing with Angelo's doubts of him. Crista gave Marco a smile as he pried open the box for her to examine the ingredients. Carmella liked to have only freshest foods.

"Va bene _(Are these good_)?" Marco asked.

"Si. Perfetto. Grazie, Marco _(Yes. Perfect. Thank you, Marco_)_,"_ Crista answered and Marco closed the box so it could be brought inside.

"Prego _(You're welcome_)_."_ He'd spent nearly a month in Sacro and was learning the Ancient Language with help from Crista. She was a patient teacher, for which Marco was thankful. He still struggled with more complex sentences.

"I'm glad you started working here. And Angelo is happy to have an extra set of hands."

_Could've fooled me_, Marco thought. Rather than voice this, he simply answered with, "Seems like it."

Crista smiled wider. Marco placed the crate of ingredients on the counter for the cooks and caught the scent of the Special Pie of the day: Apple. Oddly, the scent of apples often brought Marco's mind to the blond beauty he had been dreaming of. The reason was beyond him, but he soon gave up on resisting the sensation. In fact, he almost longed to be brought on the nostalgic trips, hoping to trigger his memories. They never came.

"Marco?" Crista asked, obviously trying to regain his attention.

"Hmm?"

"Were you remembering something?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Why?"

"You've been getting that look a lot lately, like you're on the verge of remembering part of your life before Sacro."

Crista's eyes were downcast and her voice meeker than usual. In the near-month Marco had been on Lacrime, Crista had obviously come to see him as another older brother Marco felt similarly towards her, as if the affection came natural to him.

"Does that worry you?" he asked. Crista's eyes widened.

"N-No! I-I mean, I would be happy for you if you remembered who you were." Marco raised an eyebrow at her.

"Don't lie to me, Crista."

"I have to get back to my tables," she answered quickly and turned to walk away. Marco grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving.

"You just told Carmella you finished your last table and counted your checks. You were about to leave."

"It's nothing, Fratello."

"You're a bad liar." Marco gently led Crista out the back door of the restaurant and sat beside her on the wooden steps. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid," Crista insisted, pulling her arm out of Marco's grasp. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them; Marco waited for her to elaborate. "I just don't want to find out if who you _were_ is different from who you _are_."

"You think I'll be a different person if I remember what happened before you found me?" Crista nodded, rubbing her eyes. Marco draped an arm over her shoulders to give her a loose, comforting hug. "You don't have to worry about that. You've become my sorellina." Crista looked up at him with a smile, despite her teary eyes.

"Grazie, Marco."

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**Kinda cutesy here at the end. lol. But, please do tell me if putting the translations in parenthesis was easier for you to read, or if you like the method I previously used better. Please R&R.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Since I still have yet to hear what you guys like better for my translations, I'm going to continue with the parenthesis until I'm told otherwise, and I will later go back and do the same to previous chapters. I would still like to hear your opinions on this method, though. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or its characters.**

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"Marco, hurry up! We're going to be late!" Crista called down the hall as Marco fiddled with the buttons of the shirt he wore.

He supposed he should feel honored to be invited with Crista and Angelo to the most sacred ritual on Lacrime, as it had been described to him. At the moment, however, he was simply annoyed at the choked feeling his button-up gave him. He glanced out the window and saw the sun setting behind the two mountains that gave the island its name; he and Crista would have to leave soon if they wanted to be at the Blessing Ceremony in time. Carmella's son, Luca, would be celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday, which meant he would eat one of God's Fruits, as the locals called them.

"I'm coming," Marco drawled as he stepped out of his room, wearing khaki slacks with his white shirt.

He found Crista waiting in the living room, an impatient expression on her face. She was dressed in a pastel blue down that looked as light as air. It was the first dress he'd seen on her, though he wasn't surprised that she looked as lovely as she did. Hanging from her shoulder was a dark blue bag that held the gift she'd chosen for Luca, a necklace that was said to have protective properties.

"Let's go," Crista urged as she hurried towards the front door.

"You look nice." The young woman blushed lightly, murmuring a 'thank you' and pulled him out of the house. As they walked to the mountains, where the ceremony would take place in the valley between them, Marco noticed the excited look on Crista's face. "What're you thinking about?"

"I'm happy for Luca, and I can't wait for my own ceremony," she answered wistfully. Marco chuckled at her eagerness. It was much like-

_"I'm ready to fight, Nii-chan!"_

_"Not with that form. Do it again."_

Marco shook his head slowly as the image of a young black-haired girl with a determined look on her face came to mind. She didn't look older than twelve.

"Do you know what Fruit Luca will be eating?" Marco asked, trying to keep his mind in the present. Now wasn't the time to dwell on a half-forgotten memory.

"No," Crista answered as she shook her head. "We never know until the time of the ceremony. The one turning twenty-five is the only one who knows the Fruit, because he or she has chosen it from the garden." Marco thought back to Angelo, knowing the younger man was twenty-five.

"What's Angelo's Fruit?"

"Fratello ate the Doki Doki no Mi. He's been gifted with Il Sangue di Dio."

"God's Blood?" Marco shrugged as he and Crista neared the grounds of the ceremony. He would ask her more about it later. Now, he would watch the ceremony and take part in the party afterwards.

"Sorellina! Marco!" Angelo greeted with a grin as he approached the two of them. "You made it just in time." He hugged Crista affectionately and shook Marco's hand.

"It's starting soon, right?" Crista asked as she and Marco followed Angelo to a table near the altar that was set up.

"Very shortly. Marco, you're very fortunate, being able to take part in this event."

"I'm thankful to be allowed," he answered as he glanced around the valley. The area they were in had been cleared of trees and decorated with multi-colored festoons and candles.

"Signori e signore, benvenuti (_Gentlemen and ladies, welcome_)," an older man dressed in white robes began.

That was about all Marco understood of the ceremony, as it was done entirely in the Ancient Language. Every once in a while, he would catch a word or phrase he could understand. Luca's name, naturally, came up often, as did 'twenty-five' and 'God'... or maybe they were saying 'God's Fruit'. Marco lost track and quickly decided to simply watch the ceremony as it took place before him. Speeches were made by men dressed in white or khaki, and by women dressed in pastel blue dresses.

Finally, after an hour and a half, Luca stepped forward and approached the altar, dressed in black slacks with a red button-up. Crista had previously explained to Marco that the one eating the Fruit was the wear red, per tradition, while everyone else wore the lighter colors.

Luca approached the altar and his chosen Fruit was presented to him by Carmella. Much like the Fruits Crista grew and the one Marco had eaten, it was covered in a swirling pattern and as large as a man's head. Marco didn't doubt that it would taste as disgusting as his own Devil Fruit had. The scrunched-up expression on Luca's face could attest to that.

Marco held back a knowing chuckle as Luca finished the Fruit and the guests applauded. Gifts were presented during the party afterwards and the evening continued like a typical party. Alcohol was abundant, music was loud and the people were lively. Marco watched from his seat as Crista twirled around the area marked as a dance floor with Luca and Angelo, a wide grin on her face. In his mind's eye, he could see the lithe, tanned, beautiful blond spinning on the deck of a ship.

"Care to dance?" Crista asked, holding out a hand and snapping Marco from his daydream momentarily.

_"Dance with me, Marco," the blond insisted._

_"Don't know how."_

_"Then I'll teach you. C'mon."_

"I can't dance," Marco answered, but Crista grabbed his hand anyways. Her hand was so small compared to his, Marco thought fleetingly.

"It's not hard. See, the band is even slowing down now."

Just as she said, the music slowed to a calm, steady beat that was easy to sway to. Marco soon found himself stepping in time, his movements in threes, while he held Crista's hand in his left. The right was around her waist while she rested her other hand on his shoulder. Every so often, he would twirl Crista and they would return to the formal dance. Marco felt like his body was on autopilot for a moment.

"What do you mean you can't dance?" Crista asked. "You waltz perfectly fine. Where did you learn?"

"I don't know."

"It just came back to you, huh? Well, you're a great dance partner."

Later in the evening, the men were gathered around one of the larger tables for a friendly game of cards while the women mingled amongst themselves. Marco had figured that most of the women weren't interested in cards, or only played sparingly. He glanced around the table at the other men, taking note of each of their facial expressions. Angelo's hand sucked, if the scowl playing on his lips was anything to judge by. Luca had a pretty decent hand, as did a few other men. Marco still found it remarkable how easy it was to read the faces of nearly everyone in Sacro. They all wore their hearts on their sleeves. Marco looked down at his own hand of cards, careful not to let his expression change from his typical sleepy look. He figured he probably had one of the worst hands at the table, but what really mattered in this game was bluffing.

He won that round.

And the one after it.

"You're pretty good, Marco. You play often?" Angelo asked, his perpetually playful grin on his lips.

"I used to," Marco drawled with a shrug, pocketing the money he'd won.

"How long has it been since your last game?"

"Couldn't tell you. I don't know how many years are in the gap in my memory."

"Fair enough. Dunque, ho andare a casa. Ti vedrò a domani, Marco. (_Well, I have to head home. I'll see you tomorrow, Marco_)"

"Arrivaderci (_Goodbye_)," Marco answered as Angelo stood. He gave Crista a hug before leaving the party.

"You going to keep playing, Marco?" Luca asked. Marco shook his head.

"I'm done for the night."

"Marco," Crista began as she approached, "I'm going to be heading home. I want to water my garden once more before bed."

"I'll come with you."

"Don't worry about it. I can walk home by myself. Besides, you walk too slow." She gave him a cheeky grin, to which Marco could only chuckle.

"Fine, go ahead, but I won't be far behind." As Crista left, Marco caught the chuckles from the other men around him. "Ehi! What's so funny?"

"You're just like Angelo with her," one of the younger men, Carlo, answered. "Good thing she has two brothers to look after her."

Marco shook his head with a chuckle, bid the others goodnight and left the party soon after. As he walked, he thought of Crista. It was only natural for him to want to protect her. Being an older brother came easy to him, though he'd grown up as an only child. Perhaps it was ingrained into his personality from his forgotten years, Marco figured.

* * *

**There's another chapter of "Poker Face" for you. Please R&R.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Things get a bit more interesting in this chapter. :) And we get to go through a bit of Marco's memories. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters. I only have my OCs.**

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Marco was in the midst of his big-brother thoughts, not surprisingly because he rather liked the idea of being an older sibling, as he continued to walk home beneath the night sky. Strange how in one short month he had come to think of this place as his home, he mused. Perhaps it was because this was the only place he knew besides his first home. It felt good to belong somewhere, though he still wondered how he had come to this island. It seemed pretty clear to him that there wasn't anyone searching for him, or if they were they'd never find him. It was why Marco had chosen to start working and learning the Ancient Language. He wanted to see the world, but calling this his home base didn't seem like a bad idea at all.

And still he wondered about the people in his dreams and half-memories. The black-haired girl who called him her brother, the freckle-faced young man with a mischievous grin, the old man that held a kind of compassion in his eyes that made Marco feel he belonged there, the blond beauty he dreamed of sleeping with, and all the other nameless faces that haunted his mind like ghosts. He longed to know who they were and if they cared for him as much as he dreamed they did. So often when Marco was reading the newspaper, he could almost picture a bulky man with a bulbous blond hairstyle and an obnoxiously wide grin.

_"The hell're you doing, Marco?"_ would ring in his ears, followed by a laugh that he both loved and loathed. It was endearing, but highly annoying.

Then there were days he'd wake up sore from work and imagine arm-wrestling with a man who was easily three or four times his size. The man was hugely muscular, had a dark complexion and a perpetually serious face- more so than Marco. He always felt like he was good friends with this giant of a man, like they probably understood each other.

So many nameless faces. So many memories he lost and could never again make with them. In his dreams, the less horrific ones, Marco always felt like he was home with those people. Compared to them and the ship his dreams placed him in, Crista's place was just a house, not a home. He didn't want to think of it like that because he'd really come to think of Lacrime as his home, but that other place always lingered. Wherever it was, a part of Marco wished he could be there.

He doubted the freckle-faced kid, the obnoxious blond, the beautiful woman or the old man were still around, if he ever found his dream-home again. If his nightmares were anything to go by, they'd all been killed. Freckles had had a magma hand blow through his torso. That was about as clear as the image got in Marco's dreams. He never saw the attacker or anything else, except Freckles, a lanky kid and the black-haired woman.

Dumbass, as he so fondly referred to the annoyingly lovable blond man, had been killed in a bloody mess too, based on Marco's nightmare of him. There was always a lot of rage and anguish that came with that one, just like the others. Dumbass had been killed by... a brother, as far as Marco could tell from the murmurings in his dream. Freckles always looked like a bonfire, with flames licking off of his shoulders.

Marco called the blond woman Lover, since that was obviously who she was to him. He'd gathered that he didn't just use her for sex, which relieved him. If these dreams were true, he didn't want to find out he had been a lecherous bastard. The woman obviously loved him in his dreams. Most of them were sweet, except for one reoccurring nightmare starring her. He always found her lying on a battlefield, her body lifeless. He'd approach and could tell by the unnatural pallor of her skin that every drop of blood had been drained from her body. Marco always had to hold back the bile in his throat at that image of her.

Pops... it always seemed right to call him that, Marco figured. Now _that_ was a mountain of a man, and near unbeatable. Hell, for quite some time in his dreams, Marco found it hard to believe the old man could die. Then, he would always be reminded by another nightmare. Pops would die on his feet, the front of his body completely covered in wounds. Amazingly enough, his back, which bore a very similar tattoo to Marco's, didn't have a single scar or wound.

Marco never knew what to call the black-haired girl that occasionally hung around his dreams. 'Imouto' came to mind and it was the only think that felt right, short of brat or kid. He didn't think Imouto was alive, based on the worst of his dreams with her. He often saw an image of her with her upper body burned severely. The delicate skin of her stomach was red and blistering. He could even see a charred piece of flesh here and there. The girl was a mess and he doubted she survived such damage. The thought of that pained him because he felt like she was closer to him than most, like Marco was her favorite or something. Or maybe he felt like that because of his relationship with Crista. These _were_ dreams, after all, and could be easily influenced by outside stimuli.

Marco was soon ripped from his thoughts by an ear-piercing shriek from up ahead. He broke into a dead-run. He knew Crista was somewhere ahead of him and he dreaded the thought that she might be in danger. The scream sounded again, followed by a woman's sobs, and Marco all but sprinted to the scene. Seconds later, he found Crista thrashing with an unknown attacker. In the moonlight, Marco could see the glint of a blade dangerously close to Crista's throat. The only things holding it back were her hands, which were already cut from the knife.

Marco didn't waste another second; without a conscious thought, his body transformed. Blue flames erupted from his now avian body, illuminating the night. He was a phoenix. Marco's intention for the moment was just to scare the attacker and get a good look at him; he'd hunt the bastard once Crista was safe. His plan worked. The attacker took one look at Marco, dropped his knife and ran for his pitiful life. Crista fell to her knees and stared up at the phoenix with fearful eyes, tears staining her cheeks. Marco returned to his normal form and knelt beside her, but she pushed him away. Her blood stained his white shirt in the shape of a handprint.

"Don't come near me!" Crista yelled as she began sobbing again.

"Crista-" he started.

"No! Mi hai imbrogliato! Hai mangiato Un Frutto Di Dio senza la benedizione! (_No! You tricked me! You ate a God's Fruit without blessing_!)"

"I didn't know about-"

"Bugiardo! (_Liar_!)" Crista screamed and wrapped her arms around herself, trembling.

Marco stared at her in shock. She thought he had purposely violated the most sacred of her traditions. She thought he had stolen from someone's garden. Before Marco could try to explain himself, the sound of footsteps neared them. Marco looked up and saw Angelo already there, glancing between the two of them with a look of ire on his face.

"What did you do to her?" he demanded and lunged at Marco, knocking the older man to the ground. Angelo glanced at the bloody handprint on Marco's shirt and punched him.

"I didn't do anything!" Marco yelled back and Angelo hit him again. Marco shoved the younger man off of himself and pinned him to the ground. "I'm not about to fight you and I didn't hurt her. Quit being a hot-head and we'll talk like civilized people." Odd, Marco thought; he felt like he'd given a similar line to someone else before. Freckles, maybe? Angelo took a few deep breaths and the only sounds came from Crista as she tried to corral her emotions again.

"Crista, what happened?" Angelo asked, never looking away from Marco's eyes.

"Marco mi ha salvato da un uomo con un coltello (_Marco saved me from a man with a knife_). He became a phoenix," she answered shakily. The glare Marco received from Angelo made him glad looks couldn't kill.

"You ate one of our Fruits?"

"Years ago, before I left home when I was young," Marco answered defensively.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"Many people around the world eat these Fruits to gain their powers. Outside this island, they're called Devil Fruits. I knew people who were powerful from them." Crista gasped softly.

"You remember?" she asked.

"Mostly," Marco lied. He had no way of knowing if his dreams were true, but they certainly helped him now. Unfortunately, he didn't have a name for any of the people. He went with the one that sounded most like a name or title. "Pops could create earthquakes."

"I don't believe you," Angelo spat out. Marco pushed himself off the younger man and walked over to Crista, offering her a hand.

"Believe what you want, but Crista needs her cuts treated. I'm taking her back home."

A shaky, wet hand met his and Crista stood. Her dress was smeared with her own blood and Marco was reminded of the awful images of both Lover and Imouto. He didn't want another young woman he cared about to be hurt. Marco began walking with Crista, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.

"Wait," Angelo called out. "I'm coming with you." Marco figured it was for Crista's sake, but it was better than nothing.

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**Yeah, I'm just going to end up going back and putting all the translations in parenthesis. It's just easier that way. Anyway, please R&R.**


	9. Chapter 9

****

Sorry for the late update... I forgot yesterday was Monday. lol. Anyway, here's the latest chapter.

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters.**

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Marco held Crista's hand firmly under the running water of her kitchen sink as her blood was washed away. The red tint in the metal basin angered him and it took all his effort to not tighten his hold on her wrists. From the corner of his eye, he saw Crista staring at him with tear-filled eyes. Blood was smeared across her face from when she'd previously tried to wipe her tears away. Marco had stopped her before more of her blood could be smeared.

As Crista's hands finished rinsing, Marco turned off the faucet and dried them with a wash rag. Her cuts were still bleeding and stained the towel. Crista was silent as Marco began wrapping her hands with bandages, only flinching if he pulled them too tightly. Marco paid no mind to Angelo, he was watching intently from the other side of the room. He knew the younger man was still fuming about what had happened, but he didn't particularly care at the moment.

"You don't like the sight of blood," Crista murmured as Marco began wrapping her other hand.

He glanced at her face, covered in red, and focused on her hand again. It wasn't blood that bothered him, he thought. It was _her_ blood. The sight over her like this is what bothered him. Her hand, cut and bloody, reminded him of his blond lover from his dreams. Her hands had had scars all over them from being cut, though he could never figure out why. Crista's tear-and-blood-stained face reminded him of Imouto in his nightmare of her. She had been crying in anguish and the blood of another was on her. Marco shook his head.

"Bad memories," he muttered as an excuse.

"Of whom?"

"Two women who were close to me. One died. The other... I don't know."

"Mi dispiace (_I'm sorry_)."

"Lui mente (_He's lying_)," Angelo grumbled.

Marco frowned, but didn't answer at first. Angelo was partially correct; Marco was lying about remembering his past. He had no way of knowing if these women really existed. He was, however, speaking truthfully about what Crista's wounds made him think of. Dream or not, the images were disturbing.

"Basta, Angelo (_Enough, Angelo_)!"

"Ma, Crista, lui ha mangiato- (_But, Crista, he ate_-)"

"No."

"No? L'hai visto (_You saw it_)!"

"Non me ne importa (_I don't care_)!"

"Both of you need to calm down," Marco interrupted before Angelo could yell something back at Crista. "The fact of the matter is I _did_ eat a Devil Fruit years ago. I've been a phoenix for a long time."

"You never received a blessing," Angelo countered.

"Neither do the Marines you sell them to. No one outside this island has a ceremony of any kind. These Fruits are uses as weapons."

"The World Government swore to our ancestors that Le Frutte di Dio would be used the same way we do here."

"They lied. The Fruits are lost from Marine ships all the time. You'd be hard-pressed to find high-ranking people without a Devil Fruit ability."

"Quit calling them that."

"It's what they're named outside of this island," Marco answered as he finished wrapping Crista's hand. He gave her a damp cloth to wash the blood from her face and nothing else was said. Crista was still too much in shock, and Angelo was still too angry to speak.

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When the sun rose that morning, Jozu hadn't expected a surprise visit from another pirate crew. Her certainly hadn't expected the captain of the Akuma Pirates to be so irate. The little man- little by Jozu's standards- was stout and had very little muscle mass. Jozu thought the man was captain only because of his leadership ability, and not his fighting prowess. The man wasn't strong, was only an average strategist, and didn't have a Devil Fruit power to make up for it. The captain had boarded with three other men, two of them burly. Jozu wondered what he wanted, and if he thought he was intimidating with his bodyguards. Many of those remaining from the Whitebeard Pirates were gathered around to see what the Akuma Pirates wanted. Even Hotaru had left her room to take her usual seat on the railing, right next to where Marco _would_ be perched.

"We had a deal!" the belligerent pirate captain yelled.

"What are you talking about, Minato?" Jozu asked.

"I'm talking about our deal that if we left you alone, you wouldn't go after us! Just because your old captain kicked the-"

"Choose your next words wisely," Hotaru growled. Minato glanced around at the angry faces, many holding weapons. Hell, even the nurses had guns. He knew his whole crew wasn't able to take them on, let alone the men he'd brought with him.

"All's I'm sayin' is that you oughtta keep your men to the deal."

"We haven't attacked anyone in your crew," Jozu answered calmly.

"Horse-shit!" Minato yelled. "Your damn phoenix tried to kill Taro, here, a week ago." He gestured to the smallest of the men he'd brought with him. Poor brat looked like he'd need a change of britches soon.

"You saw Marco?" Hotaru asked hopefully as the other members of Whitebeard's crew began mumbling amongst themselves. Was Marco really alive? After so long? Why hadn't he found them yet?

"Saw him? I though the bastard was going to eat me!" Taro yelled.

"Where was he?"

"Why should we tell _you_?" Minato demanded.

"We want to know why he attacked one of your men," Jozu answered.

He figured he'd make the Akuma Pirates' captain believe they were going to take serious action for what Marco had done. Quite the contrary. Jozu knew Marco wouldn't break a deal made by Oyaji unless pressed to. Whatever Taro had done, he had infuriated the typically calm commander.

"Is he going to face consequences?"

"We'll perform a full investigation."

"Hell no! What's there to investigate? He tried to kill one of my men."

"We don't punish without just cause."

"If Marco attacked without provocation, then he will be dealt with accordingly," Vista added.

"But that can't be done if we don't know where he is." Minato rubbed his chin slowly.

"I see your thinking, Diamond Jozu. Taro saw your man on the island called Lacrime," he answered.

"I've never heard of that," Hotaru commented.

"A'course you haven't. The World Government's been keepin' it secret. We got the Eternal Pose to it."

"Why keep it secret?"

"The locals _grow_ Devil Fruits. My boy Taro was tryin' to get me an exceptionally rare Fruit, until your phoenix tried to kill him."

"I find it hard to believe there is an island that grows Devil Fruits," Vista murmured.

"Well, where do you _think_ they come from? Listen, if you want your phoenix back, we'll bring you to the island, but we get the Devil Fruit Taro tried to get."

"Agreed," Jozu answered instantly. Minato was more than content and left soon after with his men. Jozu scowled at the man's carelessness, but didn't pay him much mind after.

"I don't believe him about the Devil Fruits," one of the nurses muttered.

"Do we _have_ to follow that bastard?" another asked.

"Vista, Hotaru, can you two find and steal their Eternal Pose?" Jozu asked.

He didn't particularly care how the compass was brought into his possession, but he figured he'd send the two who were best at stealth. While he knew Hotaru's injuries were far from fully healed and would hinder her movement, he also knew she was quite the actress. Enough of a distraction would give Vista ample time to get in, get the Eternal Pose, and get out.

"Consider it done," the two answered, each sporting a smirk.

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**Please R&R.**


	10. Chapter 10

**So, I'm really pumped right now because I made a great AMV and got it onto Youtube without them taking it down on me. It's a One Piece AMV, and one of my first to use ALL clips (I typically have to throw in regular pictures here and there because I can rarely find all the clips I need). So, if anyone is interested in watching my AMV, just look for KagamiOkasawa on Youtube. ;)**

**Anyway, enough of my shameless advertising. lol. I hope you enjoy chapter ten.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters.**

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The day after Crista's attack, Angelo would not leave the house unless absolutely necessary. He was afraid for Crista, as he would often say. After the week had passed with no incident, he finally continued working at the restaurant as normal. Marco was thankful for the peace, but annoyed that he'd been unable to find Crista's attacker. He would've loved to kill that bastard for cutting her hands like that. The marks were mostly healed, but scars were beginning to appear. Marco hated that he'd been unable to stop the attack from happening. He had been _right_ behind her leaving the party.

"Something bothering you, Fratello?" Crista asked as she was washing a few dishes in the sink. Marco was on the other side of the kitchen, watching as she worked.

"It's nothing," he answered simply, his eyes never leaving her hands. Crista seemed to notice this and she frowned.

"Don't worry about what happened, Marco. It's over and done with, and you saved me. That's all that matters."

"I want to know why he attacked you." Crista frowned and looked away, turning back to the dishes. She said nothing, which brought a slight frown to Marco's lips. It wasn't like Crista to stop a conversation like that unless something bothered her. "Crista?"

"Non è niente. Non preoccuparti. (_It's not important. Don't worry_)"

"Don't lie to me, Crista."

"I'm not lying, Marco."

"Look at me." Crista stood still for a moment. Slowly, she turned off the faucet and turned to face him. There was a displeased, but anxious look on her face. This only served to worry Marco more. "Did he say something to you?"

"Sì (_Yes_)," she murmured. Marco's mind raced and his anger flared. What had that son of a bitch wanted from her? How had he scared her enough to be afraid to speak to Marco? Had that bastard tried to steal something? Rape her? Marco clenched his hands into fists as he tried to hold back his rage, for Crista's sake.

"What did he say?"

"H-He knew about my in heritance." At this, Marco released a silent sigh of relief. He knew it could have been far worse.

"What inheritance?"

"My parents, when I was ten, gave me one of God's Fruits. They said it would take years for it to be capable of use. If I were to eat it then, the Fruit would remain dormant in my body until reaching its maturity stage. I still have the Fruit and it matured this year. I plan to eat it at my own Blessing Ceremony," Crista explained.

"I've never heard of a Fruit like that."

"Mamma told me it was very rare. She said it was also a very powerful Fruit, a gift from God."

"And the man who attacked you wanted that Fruit?" Marco inquired and Crista nodded.

"He threatened to kill me."

Marco shook his head slowly. Not only was it appalling what Crista's attacker had done, but stupid. By killing her, he would be unable to get the Devil Fruit. It was callous of Marco to think that, but true. He knew better than to voice this.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. I could have waited a few minutes for you, but I didn't."

"Don't start blaming yourself for being attacked," he warned. "This was in no way your fault."

"Nor was it yours, so you can stop apologizing to me," Crista countered.

"How many people knew about your Fruit?"

Crista's expression changed to one of surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to figure out how your attacker knew of it."

"The only ones who have known are my parents, Angelo, me and now you, but I'm the only one who knows where it is. My parents passed away last year."

"They were young."

"They were sickly," she answered simply and Marco understood that she was still hurt from the loss. He didn't press further.

"So, only you and Angelo knew about the Fruit."

"Yes."

"Are you sure you never mentioned it to anyone else?"

"Sì. No one knew about..." Marco raised an eyebrow as Crista trailed off.

"Crista?"

"I once mentioned it to Carmela, but she wouldn't do this. She wouldn't have found someone to hurt me to get it. Why would she want it anyway? She and Luca have both gone through their ceremonies."

"And anyone who eats a second Devil Fruit literally explodes." Crista shuddered and nodded her head.

"That's correct. Besides, Carmella and Luca care for me very much."

"How much?"

"Many in Sacro think he may ask me for my hand before year's end."

Marco's eyes widened. "He's going to marry you?"

"It's very likely. We've known each other for years."

"Seems a bit..."

"Different? I'm sure my culture still confuses you, huh?"

"Only the parts that are thrown at me."

"Luca is a good man, and I would be happy with him. I know he and Carmella would never tell anyone."

"What about Angelo?"

"I know you don't like him, but he's always taken care of me."

"It's not that I don't like him. He doesn't trust me," Marco answered.

"Only because he worries for me. He would never hurt me. I don't think he could hurt a fly."

Marco's mind drifted to his first day on Lacrime, when he met Angelo. There was still one phrase that was spoken to him that he couldn't understand.

"L'apparenza inganna," he murmured.

"Scusi (_Excuse me_)?" Crista asked in shock.

"Angelo said that to me the day we met. What does it mean?" Crista shook her head and turned away, placing her hand over her mouth. She began murmuring something in the Ancient Language that sounded vaguely like a prayer. "Crista?"

"Angelo didn't do it. I know he didn't."

"What does that phrase mean?"

"It means 'Looks are deceiving', but I know Angelo. He has been with me since I was born. He's always protected me. Fratello loves me and would never try to hurt me."

"I hope your right, Crista."

"Why would he want the Fruit my parents gave me, anyway? He's already been gifted with God's Blood."

"I don't know. It's just something to keep in mind."

"L'apparenza inganna... I can't believe it."

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**So, that was what Angelo had said to Marco on his first day on Lacrime. You guys see why I couldn't translate it for you before? ;) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please R&R.**


	11. Chapter 11

**-grins- You guys have no idea how much I love the end of this chapter. lol I had a bit of fun with it. Well, that and the little memory Marco talks about. ;) Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters.**

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The next week passed without incident, for which Marco was thankful. Angelo's actions hadn't changed and he hadn't done anything to make Marco believe he was after Crista. All was peaceful on Lacrime, as it always was. For the whole week, Marco was uneasy. He felt like this was the calm before the storm.

"Marco?" Crista said, pulling him from his thoughts as he sat in the living room of the house they shared.

"Hmmm?"

"Is something wrong? You've been very quiet lately."

"Just thinking."

"About your life before coming here?" That stopped Marco for a moment. He hadn't given much thought to the people he'd dreamt of or had seen in his half-memories. His mind was focused on Crista's attack. However, he knew she didn't like him thinking about it.

"Somewhat," he lied.

"What are the people you remember like?" she asked earnestly. It was the first time since Marco told her he remembered that she'd asked about them.

"It's still pretty hazy, but the people I remember were kind-hearted. There was one little girl - she called me Nii-chan when she younger - and she must have been ten years old when she met me. She wasn't afraid of anything and she liked to play rough."

"It sounds like you really loved her."

Marco nodded. "I can't remember her name, but I call her Imouto. I remember there was one time when she'd gotten sick, but we were on a ship. She'd never gotten seasick, so we knew something was wrong when she was curled up on-deck, looking as green as a frog."

"We?"

"The other men. My brothers, I think." Crista nodded.

"So, the little girl was sick. What did you do?" she asked. Marco chuckled and thought back to the dream he'd had of this event with a wistful smile on his lips.

"I stayed by her side all day while she threw up over the side of the ship. She didn't cry once. She just sucked it up and waited it out. I was proud of her, for being as strong as she was, but I told her it was okay to cry sometimes. You know what she told me?"

"What?"

"She said, 'This isn't anything to cry over, Nii-chan. I feel like crap, but none of my nakama is hurt.' Can you believe it? She was only a kid, but she was already so grown up," Marco answered and Crista smiled. She could see how proud he was of his adoptive sister and wondered if Angelo felt like that about her.

"How was she the last time you saw her?" she asked and Marco's smile fell. Crista immediately wished she hadn't said anything, but was curious to know, if he'd tell her.

"She was in bad shape. I'm not sure how, but she was covered in burns. I remember being furious at the bastard who'd hurt her. She was crying that day, but I don't think it was for herself." Marco thought of Pops and Freckles dying in his nightmares, then of Imouto's burns. "I doubt she made it."

He could feel a lump forming in his throat and he gave a little cough to clear it. This was ridiculous of him, really. Getting emotional over a sister that only existed in his dreams? What kind of grown man did that? And yet, he could never shake the feelings he got whenever she showed up in his dreams as that tough little girl.

They were both drawn from the silence at the sound of someone pounding on the door that that led outside from the kitchen. It was Luca and he was out of breath. He spoke before Marco or Crista had a chance to ask what was going on.

"Pirates have landed on the island. I don't know how they got here, but Angelo went to fight them off!" he exclaimed.

"Dio mio (_My God_)," Crista breathed and ran out the door, not even bothering with her shoes.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to stop him!"

Marco scowled but followed after her towards the beach. He'd be damned if he let Crista be hurt by anyone again. When he got to the beach, he saw Angelo fall onto his back and Crista about to run towards him. Marco grabbed her arms to hold her still and glanced around at the few pirates who had landed on the beach. He could see their ship farther out in the ocean.

"Crista, get back!" Angelo ordered as he stood again and one of the pirates cracked his knuckles. He was wearing a black top-hat, carried two swords and had a long, thin moustache. He looked incredibly familiar to Marco and he nearly lost his hold on Crista as she struggled.

"Don't you touch him, figlio della- (_son of a_-)"

"Crista," Marco hissed, "calm down. And Angelo, don't be stupid. Don't attack them."

"Holy shit!" one of the pirates exclaimed as they all looked at Marco.

In the group, he could see the hugely muscular man he'd dreamt of arm-wrestling with. Marco's jaw dropped and his grip on Crsita's arms slackened. She pulled free and ran to Angelo, checking him for wounds. Marco barely noticed as he watched the large man step forward. Sitting on his shoulder was a young woman with black hair short enough to belong to a man. Her upper body was covered in bandages, but she wore a black tank top over them.

"Marco?" she whispered, as though she didn't believe her own eyes.

She slid off the big guy's shoulder and the one with the weird moustache moved to help her walk. It was obvious he was concerned for her physical health, but she just urged him off of her. Not a word was spoken and Marco doubted anyone dared to breathe as this woman limped across the sand, heading straight towards him. Watching her struggle, Marco was forced to think of the muscles that went into walking, and how painful it must have been for her. As the woman neared, he could see the tears in her eyes and, once she was close enough, she threw herself at him, grabbing the open edges of his shirt. Marco was shocked, but put his arms around her as if it was the most natural reaction to her crying on his chest.

"I-Imouto?" he asked and the woman gave him a watery laugh.

"You haven't called me that since I was a kid."

Marco realized at that moment that he hadn't simply dreamed of this young woman; she was real. They all were. He wrapped his arms around her even tighter and just held her as she cried, a few tears falling from his own eyes. It was all real. They all existed and they loved him. They had been looking for him. His family had returned to him.

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**Yeah... I needed the family fluff. XD Please R&R.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hope you enjoy the latest chapter.**

**Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters belong to Eiichiro Oda. I only claim the OCs I have created.**

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Even after meeting the woman he'd called Imouto, Marco was still unable to believe what was happening. Crista and Angelo were, likewise, shocked speechless. They couldn't stop staring as the few pirates on the beach crowded around Marco and the young woman. Marco still couldn't remember any of their names.

"We were so worried about you... Some of the others thought you might have been killed, but no one wanted to believe it," Imouto said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

"Our firefly wouldn't rest so long as you were out here somewhere," another man answered. He was portly, with black hair and a matching goatee. Marco vaguely remembered him as a chef.

"After Thatch, Ace and Oyaji right in a row like that... I couldn't lose you too."

"What in the blue seas have you been doing here for so long?" the one with the moustache asked.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" Angelo demanded and everyone turned to stare at him. Crista was holding his arm, trying to keep him from attacking the pirates again.

"We're Marco's nakama," Imouto answered firmly. She sounded like she was pissed off, not that Marco could really blame her. Angelo _had_ attacked first. Crista's expression showed apprehension, but a bit of relief.

"You're the ones he's been trying to remember?" she asked hopefully. A frown quickly adorned Imouto's face and Muscles turned to Marco.

"Trying?" he repeated.

"He's only just started to remember his life before he was shipwrecked here." Imouto gasped and looked up at Marco.

"You don't remember? I'm going to _kill_ that Marine bastard for shooting you out of the sky! He's going to be in so much pain, his great-grandchildren will be limping!"

"Hotaru, calm down," the portly one urged.

"No, Emile! That son of a bitch nearly cost us our brother!"

"You're in no condition to be fighting anyone. You shouldn't be _walking_."

"This isn't the place for this conversation," Muscles said and Marco nodded in agreement. He looked to Crista and she smiled.

"If you'd like, a couple of you may come into town and we can talk at my house," she offered.

"Crista, loro sono pirati (_Crista, they're pirates_)," Angelo hissed in objection.

"You'll be there, Angelo, and I won't let Crista be hurt," Marco answered.

"Non mi fido di te (_I don't trust you_)."

"I know you don't, but you should know I want to protect Crista as much as you do." The pirates all stared at Marco, a curious expression on a few faces.

"You've learned their language?" Muscles asked, sounding impressed. Marco nodded and the young woman, who he now knew was named Hotaru, turned to the big man.

"Jozu, can Vista and I go and explain everything to Marco? I'd ask you to come, but something tells me you wouldn't fit through the front door," she asked, a playful smile on her lips. The portly man chuckles as Muscles—Jozu—nodded.

"We'll return to the ship. Vista, make sure you both return before nightfall," he answered. The one with the moustache, Vista, agreed and the pirates returned to their ship. As promised, only Vista and Hotaru remained with Marco, Crista and Angelo.

"I can't believe this," Angelo muttered as Marco helped Hotaru climb on his back so he could carry her. It was obvious her injuries hadn't healed well.

"Hush, Angelo," Crista hissed. "How long as your crew been searching for Marco?"

"Since he disappeared a month and a half ago," Vista answered. "You have our gratitude for keeping him safe and healthy."

Crista grinned. "I'm happy you've found him. He's been thinking of you a lot lately."

"So you _did_ remember us?" Hotaru asked Marco. He almost shrugged, but remembered her wounds.

"Bits and pieces. Only a few things stuck out," he answered.

"Like Oyaji?" Oyaji, Marco thought. Pops. It had to be that old man. So, he wasn't the only one that felt the old man to be fatherly.

"Is he... Was he killed?" Marco asked. Hotaru nodded and he could feel her arms snaking closer to his neck. Marco figured the close proximity must have comforted her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Crista murmured and Marco saw Angelo hold back a scowl.

"Do you remember Anne, Thatch or Ace?" Hotaru asked.

"Not by name. What were they like?"

"I'm sure Anne was clear in your memory," Vista answered. "She was your spouse for a number of years. She had blond hair, was a great fighter and treated younger crewmates like her own children." Marco's eyes widened as his mind went directly to the blond beauty from his dreams.

"Scars all over her hands?" he inquired.

"Because of her Devil Fruit."

"Yeah, she stuck out."

"I'm glad," Hotaru murmured. "She would've been pissed if you hadn't remembered her. You—ah—you took her death really hard."

He'd figured that from the bile in his throat every time he'd thought of her death. "How long ago?"

"When I was thirteen, so eight years."

They arrived at the house and Crista opened the door, directing them to the living room. Marco set Hotaru on the couch and sat beside her, Crista on his other side. Angelo and Vista chose to remain standing. They were both guarding over their younger sisters and would be damned if anything happened.

"Who were Thatch and Ace?"

"Thatch was the Fourth Division Commander. He was killed by Marshall D. Teach, Blackbeard. You thought Thatch was an idiot, but he was our brother and we were all furious when Blackbeard killed him. Ace went after Teach in an attempt to avenge Thatch. He didn't make it and-" Hotaru stopped as a choked sob escaped her and the tears fell again. Marco figured Thatch was Dumbass and Ace must have been Freckles. If the nightmares were still true, then Ace must have been the one who had a hole punched through him. And Hotaru must have been the crying woman.

"I remember them. You were closer to Ace, weren't you?" Marco asked and Hotaru nodded.

"He was to her what Anne was to you," Vista clarified and Marco wrapped as sympathetic arm around Hotaru's shoulders. She leaned into him and traced her finger over the tattoo on his chest.

"What does the tattoo mean? He could never tell us," Angelo asked, his voice still sounding too hard for the situation. Marco could detect a bit of sympathy despite the show.

"It's our captain's Jolly Roger. Marco is the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. With Oyaji gone, Marco is to lead us," Hotaru answered with a slight, hopeful smile.

"How did you find me?" Marco asked.

"Vista stole the Eternal Pose to this island from the Akuma Pirates. One of their men was here two weeks ago, trying to steal some powerful Devil Fruit for their captain."

"What?"

Hotaru pulled away with a confused expression on her face. "Do you know about it?"

"He tried to kill Crista!"

"Fratello, per favore. Non preoccuparti (_Brother, please, don't worry_)," Crista pleaded.

"Is that why you transformed into a phoenix?" Hotaru asked. "He said you tried to kill him unprovoked."

"Unprovoked?" Angelo repeated incredulously. "And he was after her Fruit?"

"Everyone needs to calm down," Vista urged. "Marco, I think you should explain to us what happened since you came here."

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**Please R&R.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry for the late update. I totally forgot yesterday was Monday until I woke up this morning. lol. Hey, haven't you heard? Tuesday's the new Monday. XD Yes, I'm being incredibly lame right now... I deserve it. lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters belong to Eiichiro Oda. I have ownership over the OCs I have created.**

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After the explanation was complete, silence engulfed the room. The only sounds came from the birds chirping outside. Even Angelo was speechless after hearing the full story of Crista's attack. He was worse after Hotaru and Vista had spoken of the meeting with Minato, the captain of the Akuma Pirates. Crista was silent, her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes downcast. She looked as though she'd just relived the attack.

Vista and Hotaru were both stunned to hear all that had taken place in the past month and a half. They'd asked questions about the Devil Fruits and the ceremonies, and seemed genuinely concerned for Crista's well-being. Marco simply watched them all, waiting for a reaction.

"Crista, are you sure you're okay after that?" Hotaru finally asked.

"I'm fine. Besides, I'm sure it's nothing compared to your daily lives," Crista answered with a shaky voice.

"We're pirates. You're a civilian. There's a difference."

"You're pirates, so don't you do the same thing to other villages?" Angelo countered.

"Oyaji didn't want us to needlessly harm civilians. Our fights are fair and we certainly don't mug defenseless women in the middle of the night," Vista explained.

"Pirates with an honor code. What's next?"

"Quit being an ass, and maybe we'll be nicer to you," Hotaru retorted.

"Why are you even here? You've found your commander, so why don't you all leave? Or are you planning on robbing us blind in the middle of the night?"

"We're here because any family of Marco's is our family, and we take care of our own."

"Are you saying I don't?"

"Well, if the boot fits."

"Hotaru," Marco reprimanded. "That's enough." Hotaru huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Under normal circumstances, Marco would have laughed at how she looked as she pouted.

"We _will_ need to speak with you later, Marco," Vista said, trying to keep the tension low.

"Why can't you say it here?" Crista asked.

"It's crew business. Nothing personal, Miss."

"The sun's setting. You should return to your ship before the rest of the pirates come," Angelo spat.

"Basta, Angelo (_Enough, Angelo_)," Crista hissed.

"No! Ti fidi di loro! Perché (_No! You trust them! Why_)?"

"Vista è il fratello di Marco e Hotaru è sua sorella. È la sua sorellina. Perché non capisci (_Vista is Marco's brother and Hotaru is his sister. She's his little sister. Why don't you understand_)?"

"Don't argue," Marco interrupted. "It's not worth it, and I'll be leaving with my crew once everything is settled."

Crista's face fell and she nodded slowly. Marco knew it pained her to hear he was leaving, but they both knew it would happen. The best thing he could do was try to prepare her for his departure.

"What's there to be settled? I can take care of Crista. I protected her long before you came here, and I can protect her after you leave!" Angelo yelled.

"It'll give me peace of mind."

"Marco, why don't you escort Vista and Hotaru back to the beach? I'm sure they'd rather speak of their private matters as soon as possible," Crista suggested. Marco noticed the annoyance on her face, likely directed towards Angelo, but nodded anyway.

"I'll be back soon," he said and stood to leave with his newfound nakama.

"Ah, Hotaru, may I ask you something before you go?"

"You can _ask_," the black-haired woman answered. The _I may not answer_ was left implied.

"You have four earrings in your left ear, but none in your right. Why is that?" Crista asked. Marco looked at Hotaru's ear and realized he'd overlooked the four small, golden hoops that pierced the cartilage. Hotaru gave a wry smile.

"One for every person near my heart that I've lost," she answered. "I'm glad I didn't need to get a fifth for Marco."

With that, the pirates left the house and Marco began leading the way back to the beach. Hotaru and Vista remained silent as they walked through the small town. A few people greeted Marco, but most avoided the small group for fear of Vista and Hotaru. It wasn't until they were on the beach that Vista spoke.

"Marco, how many people does Crista know by the name of Angelo?" he asked.

"One. Why do you ask?"

"When I stole the Eternal Pose from the Akuma Pirates, I found letters to Minato. They were all signed by a man named Angelo."

"You think he tipped off the Akuma Pirates about Crista's inheritance."

"We just don't know why," Hotaru answered. "I mean, what's in it for him?"

"Preventing Crista from being stronger?" Vista suggested. "He seems like the dominant kind."

"He is, but I don't think that's the only reason. Crista's going to be married soon, so the dominance wouldn't last," Marco explained.

"How valuable is her Devil Fruit?"

"I'd guess very, considering how rare she made it out to be when she told me about it."

"Then maybe he's after the money," Hotaru muttered.

"You two positive it's him?"

"Is he the only Angelo that knows about her Devil Fruit?"

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Excluding Hotaru's outbursts-" Vista began.

"Bastard deserved it!" she defended.

"-we didn't want him to think we were accusing him of planning this. We figured he'd hurt her if his plans were jeopardized."

"Are you all willing to stay on the island for a couple days?" Marco asked.

"If it meant getting you back, I don't think anyone would care if we stayed for months," Hotaru answered with a smile.

"I plan to take care of him as soon as possible, but that means keeping up appearances right now."

"Then take a Baby Den Den Mushi with you," Vista suggested as he pulled a small snail from inside his black jacket and handed it to Marco. "If you need us between now and tomorrow morning, contact us."

"Or transform into the phoenix," Hotaru added jokingly. "You know, whatever the situation calls for." Her cheeky grin faded into a genuine smile as she hugged Marco again. "I'm so happy we found you." Marco rubbed Hotaru's back gently, a smile pulling at his lips. No words could properly describe his joy at finally recovering his family and his memories.

"Me too," he murmured.

Marco watched as Vista and Hotaru returned to their ship- he vaguely thought that the ship was his as well, as he was also a member of the Whitebeard Pirates. Once he saw a light come from the ship, signaling they had arrived, he turned and walked back to the house he shared with Crista. Strange, he thought, that within a few short days he would no longer be living in that house. As Marco neared the humble home, he took in as many details he could about it.

The outer walls were painted white, but the wall on the left side had little blue handprints near the ground. Crista had explained that she'd made those prints when she was only five. Her parents had never painted over them. Despite the age of the house, there weren't any cracks in the paint on the walls.

The front threshold was never used unless a visitor was a newcomer or a mere acquaintance of Crista. It was the door to the kitchen, only a few feet from the handprints, that was used most often. Anyone who knew Crista knew she greeted people from the kitchen.

There were many windows on the one-story house. Crista loved the sunlight and wanted it to surround her at all times during the day. Marco thought it fitting, as she seemed to glow everywhere she went. The only times storm clouds could be seen around her were when she was worried or angry. Lately, the latter seemed to be occurring most often, courtesy of Angelo. If he was intending to harm Crista, Marco would be sure to kill the bastard himself.

It was through one of these windows that Marco saw Crista thrown against the wall with Angelo's hand at her throat.

He called Vista before running inside.

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**Please R&R.**


	14. Chapter 14

**I promise, I did not forget that yesterday was Friday. The computer had to be off all day yesterday because of Hurricane Earl coming. All's good, though, and we were barely touched where I am, so I'm updating today. lol Only one more chapter after this. Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters belong to Eiichiro Oda. I only have my OCs.**

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Marco was in the living room with his hand at the collar of Angelo's shirt in seconds. He pulled the younger man away from Crista and across the room. The shelf Angelo crashed into clattered with him, sending the pictures atop it shattering. Crista's hand rested at the base of her throat as she struggled to regain her breath and fell to her knees behind Marco.

"You should get out of here while you still can. Non stai bene qui (_You don't belong here_)," Angelo warned darkly as he picked himself up off the floor.

"Sto bene dove Crista ha bisogno di me (_I belong where Crista needs me_)," Marco answered, shifting his body so he could better protect Crista.

"You think you're one of us just because you speak our language? Have seen our culture? Or maybe because you're Il Guardiano di Dio (_God's Guardian_)? I outrank you! I have Il Sangue di Dio (_God's Blood_)!" Angelo grabbed a piece of broken glass from the shattered picture frames and dragged it across his right palm. Blood began trickling from the cut. Marco watched as the red fluid lifted itself from Angelo's palm, seemingly of its own accord.

"Crista, run outside now."

"But-" she began.

"Sarò bene. Vai (_I'll be fine. Go_)!" Marco ordered, his eyes never leaving Angelo's hand nor the blood lifting from it. Crista stood shakily and stumbled out of the living room, into the kitchen. The door slammed shut moments later.

"I'll kill you and go after her once I'm done," Angelo growled, his blood now taking the form of a whip in his hand.

"You can't kill me."

"L'apparenaza inga-"

"I know, 'Looks are deceiving', but I know you can't. You're inexperienced with your Devil Fruit."

"You're too confident!" Angelo yelled and used his blood like the whip it resembled. Marco jumped to the right as a slash three centimeters deep was etched into the wall.

"The overconfident one is you." Marco easily held his balance as Angelo continued to throw his weaponized blood. More cuts were made into the walls of Crista's living room, but Marco had yet to be hit.

"Quit running, you coward!"

Marco knew Angelo was quickly growing frustrated, which was exactly what he wanted. Being a commander in Whitebeard's crew wasn't just about being strong, and he now remembered the tactics he'd learned in his many years as a pirate. This was one of the simplest Marco could think of.

"As you wish," he answered and ran forward, shoving Angelo through the picture window that led to the front yard.

Glass shattered around the two men and drew blood from them both. Marco's cuts were healed in a matter of seconds by blue flames that licked and warmed his skin. Angelo shoved him away, hissing in pain at both the glass shards and the newly-formed burns.

"I see you've started without us," Vista's voice said from behind Marco.

"Where's Crista?" Marco never took his eyes away from Angelo, who was struggling to grasp his blood through the burns on his hands.

"We used her to keep Hotaru out of the fight. Both are on the ship."

"Good," Marco mumbled as he stood and dusted himself off. Angelo was glaring, but had yet to make another offensive move. "What do you want with Crista's Devil Fruit, Angelo."

The younger man sneered. "Il suo Frutto di Dio è il dragone. È La Forza di Dio (_Her Fruit of God is the dragon. It is the God's Strength_)."

"Does the lad come with a translator?" Emile asked. Marco now glanced behind him to see that Vista, Emile and Jozu had been the ones to come to his aid.

"Her Devil Fruit is powerful," he provided, turning back to Angelo. "But you've already been through your ceremony. What need could you have for it now?"

"I had planned to eat the Fruit for my ceremony, but it wasn't mature. I was instead given Il Sangue di Dio."

"What does that have to do with now?"

"Voglio venderlo ( _I want to sell it_)!"

"You'd kill the woman you call your sister for a few billion beli?"

"Like you pirates wouldn't do the same!" Angelo yelled and clenched his fist through the pain. His blood reformed the whip and he flung it wildly at Marco, Vista, Emile and Jozu. The four men easily evaded the attack, Jozu turning his body into diamond.

"He has no skill," Vista commented, his voice almost sounding bored. "I still stand firm in my belief that Anne was the only one fit to have eaten the Doki Doki no Mi."

Marco's head snapped towards Vista, his eyes wide in realization. Angelo's ability had seemed familiar, but he could never quite place why. Through all the dreams and half-memories, he'd never been able to fully remember the Devil Fruit ability that Anne possessed. He know understood where the scars on her hands had come from, as well as remembered more of the specific details of the Doki Doki no Mi. He knew all of Angelo's weaknesses.

"Divide and conquer," Marco said, glancing at the men of his crew- his brothers. "I want this quick and easy."

A low chuckle. "You got it," Jozu answered. He, Emile and Vista backed away from Marco to surround Angelo, who was already breathing heavily as he glanced frantically at the older men.

"You can't stop me!" the young man yelled and raised his whip.

"We've already won," Emile answered. "You haven't had your Devil Fruit powers for very long, and it's obvious."

"You're slow to gather and manipulate your blood. You use too much of it, and you lack any grace whatsoever," Vista added.

"Because of your overconfidence and inexperience, you've already worn yourself out. You're dizzy and disoriented," Jozu continued.

"Arrivaderci, Angelo. Vedrò nell'inferno (_Goodbye, Angelo. See you in Hell_)," Marco finished as he transformed into the blue phoenix and lunged at Angelo.

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**Please R&R.**


	15. Chapter 15

**This is the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read this story all the way through. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. **

**Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters belong to Eiichiro Oda. I only have my OCs.**

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Crista was sitting on the front steps of her house, Luca and Carmella seated on either side of her. Marco was standing a few feet away with Jozu, Vista, Emile and Hotaru a ways behind him. Luca draped an arm over Crista's shoulder, but she only pushed him away and stood up.

"Perché (_Why_)?" she murmured. "Non capisco. Ho creduto che lui mi amava (_I don't understand. I thought he loved me_)."

"Crista," Marco began. The young woman shook her head and tried to rub the tears from her eyes.

"No… I'm fine, really." Marco watched the tears continue to fall and he sighed. Crista was still so easy to read.

"You're a bad liar."

"I'm not-"

"Crista."

"I will be, I promise." She glanced at the charred grass only ten feet in front of her home. That blackened patch of earth was the only thing left of Angelo. Marco's men had disposed of the body before Crista had arrived with Hotaru from the ship. Marco hadn't wanted her to see the gruesome remains of the man she'd called 'brother' all her life. Marco watched her gaze harden at the burnt grass.

"Fury doesn't suit you," he said, snapping her attention back to him. Her eyes softened instantly and she wiped her tears away again.

"I just can't believe he was only using me all these years. Is it wrong if I say I'm happy you did what you did?"

Marco chuckled. "Not at all."

"But it still hurts."

"That's to be expected," Luca offered supportively. "Angelo has always been a part of your life." Crista nodded slowly and turned to offer the young man a weak smile. Crickets chirped in the moonlight during the moment of silence. Dawn would be arriving soon.

"You're going to be leaving soon, aren't you, Fratello?" Crista asked as she turned back to Marco. He nodded slowly.

"Unless you still need me here," he answered and Crista shook her head with a gentle smile.

"No. Domani, lo so che mi passo il confine (_No. Tomorrow, I know I'll pass through the confines. _Could be read as: _I'll get through this_)."

Marco glanced at the charred earth he'd created. "Con un pò di fortuna, ti puoi dimenticare (_With a little luck, you can forget_)."

"Non voglio dimenticare, ma… dove sarò domai (_I don't want to forget, but... where will I be tomorrow_)?"

"Ogni vita che salviamo, ogni pietra che poggiamo, fa pensare a domani, ma possiamo farlo solo oggi (_Every life that we save, every stone that we place, it makes us think of tomorrow, but we only have today_)," Marco answered.

Crsita chuckled. "È comico. Siamo sempre diversi, ma siamo sempre gli stessi. Non siamo cosi soli (_It's funny. We're always different, but we're always the same. We're not so alone_)."

"Siamo sulla stessa barca (_We're in the same boat_)."

"Sì," Crista murmured. "La mia vita nuova commincia domani (_Yes. My new life begins tomorrow_)."

The sun began to peek over the horizon and the small group outside Crista's home turned to face it. The warm rays illuminated their faces, brining the promise of a new day.

"Domani è già qui (_Tomorrow is already here_)," Marco answered. Crista turned and wrapped her arms around Marco's neck.

"Grazie mille. Ti amo, Marco (_Thank you so much. I love you, Marco_)."

"Anch'io (_Love you too_)."

As the _Moby Dick II_ began sailing away, Marco stood at the stern and watched as Crista, Luca and Carmella waved from the beach. He smiled at the sight of Crista yelling out goodbyes that were mostly lost to the crashing of the waves. Luca stood close to her with an arm wrapped around her as he waved at the ship. Marco heard footsteps on the wooden deck nearing him, followed by a feminine chuckle.

"I think they're going to miss you," Hotaru said as she leaned over the rail and waved to the people on the beach. Marco glanced at the young woman wrapped in bandages and wondered briefly when she'd be healed.

"I know," he answered.

"You know, we still have the Eternal Pose to the island, whenever you want to go back."

"That won't be for a while."

"Maybe, but the option's still there, Nii-san. So, are you ready to take your place as our captain?"

"If memory serves, wars have broken out on the islands Oyaji controlled."

Hotaru laughed. "Looks like your memories have fully returned."

"Tell the men we're charting a course to each island Oyaji controlled. We're taking them all back," Marco answered, his tone firm.

Hotaru smirked. "Aye, aye, Captain. I'm glad you're home again."

She began walking away, using the rail of the ship as her crutch and ignoring Marco when he told her to rest up. He shook his head slowly and stared out at Lacrime as it drifted away, thinking of Hotaru's statement.

"Only half home," Marco murmured and turned away. It was time to embrace his role as captain and begin another chapter of his life.

* * *

**And there is the end. I must admit, a lot of that last conversation between Marco and Crista comes from the song "Domani 21 Aprile 2009", mainly because they just worked SO WELL.**

**Well, I hope you all enjoyed this story. Please R&R.**


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